


127F

by chymyg (greetingsfrommaars)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, and special guest moon taeil's voice, arguably strangers to some to lovers, ft ty track and the 99-liners, unintentional acquisition of dad status
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23817127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greetingsfrommaars/pseuds/chymyg
Summary: 5 times Johnny and Doyoung just barely missed each other, +1 time they finally get it (+1 time Doyoung wanted to drop-kick Lee Taeyong into the sea)(posting chapters 7 and 10 of my prompt fill series “once more in the name of love” as their own oneshot for convenience)
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 12
Kudos: 127





	127F

**Author's Note:**

> this is part of my soulmate prompt fill series, [once more in the name of love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22654276)

There’s a cute guy stumbling out of the elevator on Johnny’s floor, a large box slipping out of his arms, another at his feet. He’s scrunching his nose cutely as he mutters curses to himself, probably thinking he’s alone in the hall at midday. He’s not, but Johnny is amused to witness it.

Johnny’s walking up to the elevator doors before he knows it. “Are you the new neighbor?” Johnny asks delightedly.

The cute guy startles and almost loses his grip on the box. He doesn’t, but proceeds to almost trip over the other box instead. (Way to go, hotshot. Johnny’s already nearly taken out the new guy within the first five seconds.)

“Oh, I’m so sorry, let me help you with those!” He ducks around the man and picks up the box at his feet. Never too early to start establishing himself as reliable friend material.

“Well, if you insist,” comes the dry response. He smiles up at Johnny, a hint of laughter in his eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking, dragging both of these things into the elevator with me on one trip. That’s just asking for trouble once I make it up here.”

“Nah, I like a man with ambition,” Johnny counters. “Besides, if you hadn’t brought up an extra box, what would I have done?” He lifts the box a little to punctuate his point. (If it shows off his upper arms a bit, too, well, that’s neither here nor there.)

“Say hi and go on your merry way like a normal person, probably.” The man says it with a sarcastic twist to his mouth, but he makes no move to stop Johnny from setting off down the hall. “But I should remember my manners and thank you, Mr…”

Oh, right, this guy has no idea who Johnny is. “I’m Johnny!” he declares. “I live down the hall, in 376.” He makes an abortive twitch toward a handshake, but his arms are already full. If scaring the cute guy on their first encounter wasn’t already enough of a faux pas, smashing his (startlingly heavy) moving box on the floor would definitely clinch the deal.

“Doyoung.” Doyoung apparently has the same train of thought, trying to wiggle his box to one side and free up a hand, but the weight redistribution clearly isn’t happening. He gives up with a sigh.

They just smile sheepishly at each other instead.

Johnny tries to give Doyoung a solid rundown on their way to his door: which elevator to avoid, when to use the laundry room, the fact that sometimes their mail gets mixed up because their box numbers are too close to each other (376 and 367), but that the mailperson is very nice about it and doesn’t mean to cause the inconvenience… It’s a careful balance between overtures of friendship and information overload. Gotta start right off as the man with all the answers.

Usually, Johnny would make a point to shake hands with everyone on their first meeting, just in case. But in the grand hierarchy of friendship actions, giving the guy a hand on his move-in day is definitely up there. He’s sure they’ll make contact naturally sooner or later anyway. They have time.

For now, he just returns Doyoung’s grateful smile, and hopes.   
  
  
  
Johnny can’t find his keys.

He’d gotten in late last night after Yuta dragged him to a bar, so then he’d left his usual nighttime routine to morning Johnny. Well, now morning Johnny is here, and he’s had just about five hours too little sleep to deal with overnight Johnny’s antics.

Who left their clothes all over the floor instead of the hamper? Who dumped their briefcase on the table at prime position to spill papers everywhere overnight? Who _let this happen_ , this – this disaster of a morning, right when he’s got a weekly meeting moved up an hour that he forgot about?

Johnny, of course.

By the time he finds his keys, in the dark void between his couch and the wall, he’s got one leg in his office slacks while he flounders with the other, struggling to hold onto his bag with one elbow. He’d eaten in a hurry, in between checking every cabinet like a fool, but now he wonders if he should have gone full anime protagonist and run out with bread in his mouth. It’s not like that’d be much worse than he looks now, tumbling out the door without one shoe, his tie slipping over one shoulder.

Maybe he’ll get lucky this morning, and Doyoung won’t be there to witness it, even though his breakfast runs have somehow lined up with Johnny’s morning departure times five days in a row this week…

Six days in a row, now.

Doyoung stands still in the hall, watching him with an amused quirk to his brow. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, because he’s a lucky bastard who works from home and doesn’t have to throw himself to the wolves of public transit every morning. His t-shirt is for some band Johnny doesn’t know, but would like to. If they were dating, Johnny would slide a hand into his jean pocket and draw him closer, listening to him laugh or squawk in surprise or whatever it is Doyoung does when romanced –

Damn, Johnny really hasn’t slept enough for this.

Doyoung is still watching him, apparently waiting for Johnny to get over his … momentary lapse of control. Maybe Johnny will never be mentally prepared for seeing Doyoung, he thinks wryly. His smile always comes as a punch to the lungs anyway.

“Morning,” Doyoung says, and smirks. “Calling it ‘good’ seems like a bit of a stretch, looking at you.”

Johnny groans. “Don’t even start. Just – just leave me alone to sort myself out, okay? Good morning to you too, or whatever.”

“But then how’ll I thank you?” Doyoung grins wider at Johnny’s confusion. Well, at least one of them is having a good time here. “For helping me set up the furniture. Never would’ve figured out all those tiny screws without you, y’know?”

_You could help me with the heart palpitations I get around you_ , Johnny’s mind helpfully supplies. “It’s no problem! Anything for a cu- for a nice neighbor,” his mouth says, fortunately. Nice save, John.

“Anything? So you’ll let me invite you over for dinner sometime as thanks?”

Johnny’s brain activity instantly fizzles into blank static.

“Hold on, give me a sec.” Johnny leans down to get his shoes on and his mind unscrambled. An invitation to dinner, first thing in the morning? Doyoung really is out to get him good. While he’s at it, Johnny tracks down his keys again, and locks the door, and then drops everything to fix his tie. Doyoung hasn’t really signaled whether this dinner is a _dinner_ – a dinner _together_ – but Johnny can at least try not to look like a dingus in front of him. Doyoung deserves a non-dingus.

A hand appears in front of his face.

Johnny stumbles back, startled.

“Oh, I – I’m sorry, you had something – there’s a spot on your cheek.” Doyoung’s flushing, now, at close range. Johnny’s face is probably the color of a fire engine.

“No, no, I’m just – not fully awake yet.” Johnny flails one arm. He swipes at his cheek with the other, then winces, remembering that he’s in his work clothes.

“Well, you got it,” Doyoung says, gesturing at nothing. “Anyway, I shouldn’t keep you. You look like you’re in a hurry.”

“Don’t worry about it! It’s just a meeting. I’ve still got, uh…” Johnny checks his watch. A wounded sound escapes his mouth. Shit, his boss is going to string him up by the ankles.

“Yeah, I think you should go,” Doyoung continues, watching Johnny shove everything else in his case and take off for the elevator like a madman.

“Sorry, gotta go! Have a good day at work! Talk to you later! I lo– I’ll message you about dinner sometime!”

The elevator closes with a ding.

“But I don’t have your number,” Doyoung says, to the empty hallway.   
  
  
  
“I’m not sulking,” Johnny insists, uselessly.

“Sure,” Taeil says.

A crackling sound comes over the line, as if Taeil is eating chips while he spectates Johnny’s crisis from afar. He probably is, the adorable bastard.

“I’m not! I’m just concerned, like a good friend!” Johnny gets up and starts pacing, phone in hand. “Have you ever had one of those, Taeil? Good friends check up on their friends when they drop off the map for a while! I’d check up on you if you went AWOL!”

“Yes, yes, you’d drop everything in a heartbeat if I told you I needed something,” Taeil agrees. (“That’s not what I said!”) “And now you’re being a nosy neighbor wanting to barge in on the cute guy down the hall.”

“No, I’d knock like a civilized person, and then I’d ask if he’s okay, like a good friend!”

“Johnny, for all you know, he could have gone on a trip or something. Just because you haven’t seen your cute neighbor in a few days, that doesn’t mean it’s time to panic and overreact, okay?”

Before Johnny can protest how preposterous that claim is, there’s a sound of knocking at his door. He whips his head around, staring at the door as if it’ll reveal its secrets before he opens it. He would have remembered if he’d ordered something… Can it be? Has Doyoung come in the flesh to soothe his fears?

Nah.

It’s some improbably handsome guy with a stack of papers, who looks just as surprised to see Johnny as Johnny is to see him. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this not Kim Doyoung’s apartment?” the guy asks, and isn’t that interesting. Johnny doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but is this guy a friend? A partner of some kind? Should Johnny be scoping out his competition?

“Uh, no, he’s down the hall. 367, not 376.” Johnny waves off the guy’s apology. “Classic mistake, don’t worry about it.” The unexpected visitor makes to leave, but Johnny can’t pass on such an opportunity when it’s literally at his doorstep. “Sorry, uh, but Doyoung – is Doyoung okay?”

He receives a considering look. “Well, more or less,” the visitor says, before seeing Johnny’s crestfallen expression. “No, he’s okay! It’s just a cold or something. He’ll recover and get back to his usual annoying self before long.”

That sounds like the words of a close friend, Johnny notes.

The visitor apparently senses the oncoming conversation and settles the papers on one arm. “I’m Taeyong, the other half of the business Doyoung runs,” he explains, extending a hand. “I’m just here to deliver some forms so Doyoung can keep micromanaging from his apartment or whatever.”

Ah, a partner, in the business sense. “I’m Johnny! I’m his neighbor.” Johnny holds his breath as they shake hands, but nothing happens. No burst of warmth, no feeling of starfire signaling that they’re soulmates. Another friend for Johnny to make, then.

Taeyong’s giving Johnny a _look_ , now, though Johnny has no idea how to interpret that.

“Doyoung was supposed to come in person today for some administrative stuff, but I argued him down to get him to stay at home. I had to bring up the danger to our employees to get him to take a break, can you believe it? If only there were someone who could get that guy to take it easy for a bit…”

With _that_ cryptic hint, Taeyong excuses himself to go nag Doyoung into submission.

As soon as he closes the door, Johnny leaps to action. “Taeil!” he yells into the phone. “Gotta go make some soup, bye!”

“What?”

Taeil will understand, later, when Johnny has the time to explain the situation to him. For now, Johnny cuts off the call and pulls up a recipe. He scrambles to lay out the ingredients all over his counter, and then he gets to work. It’s not Johnny’s proudest creation – he’s a grilling master, not a soup-maker, but hopefully the love and care he puts into the broth makes up for it. Love and care always balance out an excess of seasoning, right?

Standing in front of Doyoung’s door half an hour later, Johnny can only hope so.

Doyoung looks pleasantly surprised when he comes to the door. Also adorably bundled – if it weren’t for public appearances, Johnny could totally imagine Doyoung answering the door with his entire blanket draped around him. The surprise only grows when Doyoung hears the reason for the visit.

“Oh, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Johnny reassures him, holding out the pot like an offering.

“Well… thank you.”

Johnny moves forward to hand him the pot, but Doyoung backs out of the doorway instead. There’s a moment of confusion: Johnny stands there with his hands out like a dumb statue. Doyoung waits by the door. He’s expecting something, but heck if Johnny knows what it is.

“You can come in, you know,” Doyoung finally says.

“O-oh.”

“You can put it down on the table there,” Doyoung gestures. “I’ll go grab something, one sec.”

As requested, Johnny puts the soup down on Doyoung’s modernist little dining table (that Johnny helped assemble), and glances around. They never did manage to schedule that dinner. Johnny has never seen Doyoung’s apartment in its fully unpacked form before today. Well, hey, as Doyoung announced to him last Wednesday, the appliances have finally arrived. Johnny is a little intimidated at the size of his fridge. What’s he hiding in there, a body? An entire colony of penguins?

(Johnny knows better than to ask Doyoung this when he’s probably high on cold medicine.)

Doyoung comes back with a package of tea and thrusts it at Johnny. “As thanks, for going to the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble! I’ll make you soup whenever you want. Sick people shouldn’t have to do stuff.” Johnny waves his hands emphatically instead of accepting the gift.

“Just accept the thanks and go before I infect you,” Doyoung insists.

“No, I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re completely fed and hydrated. Your friend is worried! I gotta make sure you’re doing okay.”

“ _Taeyong_ is worried, huh.” Doyoung gives him a look, probably seeing right through him. (Subtlety is not one of Johnny’s strong points.)

Even so, Doyoung lets him stay, and he watches Doyoung drink one bowl, down to every last drop.   
  
  
  
(“Taeyong! How could you snitch on me like that!”

“Don’t act like getting your hot neighbor to coddle you was some kind of punishment, Doyoungie.”

“What am I supposed to do with all this soup? He just showed up at my door with food for me, how was I supposed to tell him I’d already made some? Now I’m full, and I’m _pissed_ –”

“Weak.”

“Don’t give me that, this is your fault!”

“Your man was worried about you! I just gave him an excuse to express it!”

“Don’t enable him! The furniture thing was enough. I don’t want to have to repay even _more_ favors.”

“Oh, _favors_ , huh?” Doyoung can _hear_ the suggestive eyebrows in Taeyong’s voice.

“You – Shut up! I – I’ll – Stop _laughing_!”

Taeyong won’t stop laughing.

“Thanks for checking in on me, you asshat, now _goodbye forever_.”

“Love you too, Doyoungie!”

_Click._ )   
  
  
  
Johnny has just settled into his couch, with a bowl of noodles and some weird show Ten recommended him, when the screaming starts.

Johnny leaps to his feet before the sound registers.

It’s the fire alarm.

He runs out the door, phone and wallet in his pocket, and clatters down the stairs on autopilot. Two floors down, he wonders if he should have checked on Doyoung. He could have gone to knock on his door or something, though that’s probably against evacuation protocol.

When he gets outside, he realizes he needn’t have worried. Doyoung’s beaten him there, standing to one side, watching the door worriedly. His face lights up when he spots Johnny.

Clearly he’d been cozied up inside when the alarm went off. He’s in a hoodie, hood up, a fringe of messy hair spilling over his forehead. Johnny barely restrains the urge to ruffle it when he walks over. He looks so huggable. Johnny could backhug him, clasp his hands together in the pocket over Doyoung’s belly and draw him into his arms…

“Fancy meeting you here,” Doyoung greets him.

“I know.” Johnny comes to a stop in front of him. “You come here often?”

Doyoung scoffs, but he’s smiling. “Does this happen often? We have used to have problems with faulty wiring at my last building, but I was hoping the new place would be better.”

“Not _too_ often,” Johnny says, then launches into a retelling of the time he heard an awful sound down the hall, went over to investigate, and ended up getting swarmed by his neighbors’ five escaped cats.

Their neighbors continue to trickle out of the building. The alarms scream on.

There’s a burst of shouting and laughter from the door, and a body crashes with Johnny from behind. He stumbles, struggling for balance. Doyoung’s face is suddenly very close and very beautiful in high-definition. Johnny might be hyperventilating.

“Oh shit, that’s a person, I’m so sorry,” the new arrival apologizes loudly. Johnny turns around to face some college kid about as tall as he is.

“You could try a little harder to keep your floppy noodle body under control, Yukhei,” another boy says. He’s wearing a Shrek t-shirt, of all things, in the chilly evening air.

“Did you hear something?” Yukhei puts a mocking hand to his ear. “Sorry, the air’s too dense up here, I can’t hear anything from _short people_.”

His friends apparently take offense to this, exploding in a burst of bickering in another language. Johnny’s Mandarin is firmly stuck at basic sentences, but he thinks it might sound like… Cantonese?

A boy tugs Yukhei away and settles his flailing limbs with a gentle side-hug. He nods at Johnny and Doyoung. “Sorry about that, guys. We’ll be more careful.”

Shrek t-shirt boy rolls his eyes. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who got all of us stuck out here in the first place, Mark Lee.”

“How was _I_ supposed to know –”

Mark’s defense is impassioned and full of emphatic hand gestures, but Johnny doesn’t catch the rest of it, because there’s the sudden sensation of a warm body leaning into his. Johnny freezes up. Doyoung settles his head on Johnny’s shoulder, his arm bumping Johnny’s with the motion. Should Johnny put his arm around him? Would that be weird? Wouldn’t it be weirder to not react?

Doyoung doesn’t even comment on it. He asks how Mark set off the fire alarm and promptly shames him when he finds out.

Somehow, they end up in an impromptu icebreaker circle, and Johnny feels like he’s been dumped back in a first-year college dorm again. They learn the answers to questions about the kids that they’d never think to ask: Hendery plays the drums, and has strong opinions about the Shrek musical, hence the t-shirt. Dejun vlogs at any inopportune moment. (“So do you! Remember that time the elevator got stuck?”) Mark and Yukhei are soulmates and met by literally crashing into each other in a practice room doorway.

By the time the alarms shut off, and the firefighters give the all-clear to go back, the kids have burrowed their way into Johnny’s heart. They’re just a bunch of contrasting personalities, sharing a flat, that somehow manages to rival Johnny’s friend group in their level of chaos.

Doyoung, meanwhile, has burrowed his way into a proper embrace from Johnny, leaning enough of his weight on him until Johnny _had_ to loop an arm around him and steady him. Or so Johnny tells himself.

He still has a second of crisis in the sudden silence when the alarms cut out. Does he let go now?

“Oh, thank god. I was getting so hungry,” Dejun groans, trudging back to their building entrance.

“Food! Food! Food!” Yukhei cheers, making to run off before his soulmate drags him to a halt.

“Uh, not to be a downer or anything, but…” Mark sucks in a breath through his teeth. “We kinda don’t have food anymore. It’s all burnt.” He carefully doesn’t mention who burned it.

The kids pause and give a moment of silence for the remains of their dinner.

“Dejun would probably still eat it,” Hendery says.

“Please don’t,” Johnny cuts in hurriedly. And, hey, he’s about to return to his food as well, so… “Want to come up to mine for dinner instead, then?”

“Really? Can we?”

“We don’t want to impose…”

“Well, what kind of neighbor would I be if I let my new friends starve?” Johnny smiles winningly. “Or eat toxic kitchen remains, I guess.”

The boys cheer, and Yukhei strides over to shake Johnny’s hand with way more enthusiasm than necessary.

It’ll be nice to have some people over, Johnny thinks. He’s not a person who spends much time alone if he can help it. He just has to throw more of a meal together, something with enough substance for four college-age boys… Uh oh. “Four college-age boys” may as well mean “four bottomless pits”, one of them the size of Johnny, and Johnny has experience keeping that much human fed and energized. He was planning to make a grocery run in two days, after work, but there’s no way that’ll be enough now.

Doyoung pats his arm. “Cool, I’ll combine my groceries with yours,” he says, and draws away.

Oh. Cool, cool, cool. Doyoung has extended the invitation to himself. Great. Johnny isn’t even sure if he’d originally meant to include Doyoung in the invitation. His brain was functioning at half capacity as it was.

“I’ll stop by my place and then come over,” Doyoung tells him, then starts up the stairs.

Dejun turns to Johnny as they make their way up. He gives a cute smile, and Johnny shoves his doubts aside to smile back. Johnny can worry about all this later. He can put his tangled feelings for Doyoung in a box and shelve it for a few minutes.

“So, like, are you guys dating?” Dejun asks.

Johnny chokes on air.

Even as he stammers out an answer (no), ahead of them, Doyoung realizes no one’s walking beside him, and turns around to give Johnny a gummy smile.

What could Johnny possibly do besides smile back?

Ah, crap.   
  
  
  
“So, Mr. Suh. Tell me.”

Dejun folds his hands over the table like some kind of B-movie villain. He nods at Doyoung.

“How did you guys meet?”

Johnny can’t help but think that this feels like an interrogation upon the announcement of a new relationship, and he takes offense to that. Is this what they invited him and Doyoung over for? These kids are five years too early to be mocking Johnny about his lack of mojo when it comes to Doyoung. Dejun doesn’t even react to Johnny’s glare, the little rat.

“Oh, Johnny helped me when I moved in,” Doyoung says.

“That’s adorable,” Hendery declares. Across from him, Yukhei shovels food into his mouth like a bulldozer, but gives them a thumbs up. “Big meet cute energy.”

Mark snorts and puts more food on Yukhei’s plate. It disappears within seconds.

“Actually, he scared the crap out of me by showing up out of nowhere,” Doyoung continues, cutting his meat into equally sized pieces.

“Even better,” is Hendery’s evaluation. “Please tell me he swept you off your feet with his gentlemanly apology.”

“No, we were a little awkward,” Doyoung admits. Johnny doesn’t disagree, but he really wishes Doyoung wouldn’t give the youth ammunition like this.

Mark turns to Johnny and declares, with utmost sincerity, “Johnny, dude, you gotta step up your game.”

Johnny opens his mouth to argue, but Doyoung beats him to it. He says, “yeah, like this,” and Johnny turns to him involuntarily, just to receive a pair of chopsticks shoved in his mouth. Oh, that’s food. He accepts it into his mouth on reflex. Doyoung just fed him.

He chews in a daze.

“Yeah, see, Doyoung’s got you beat there,” Dejun agrees, clearly trying not to laugh.

Yukhei swallows his food in a huge gulp and sets down his chopsticks. “We’re honored that you guys are gracing us with your presence when you could be having quality time together,” he says, and Johnny can already sense the incoming brazenness. “Alone. In a nice restaurant somewhere.” Yukhei takes a sip of water. “Table for two.” Dang, he’s really going for it. Johnny would be impressed if he wasn’t feeling an overwhelming urge to strangle him right now.

“Johnny’s paying, of course,” Hendery chimes in.

Johnny chokes, and Doyoung thumps his back.

Dejun tuts and shakes his head. “Honestly, Doyoung, how do you even handle this guy?”

“Well, I have to thank him for all his help somehow,” Doyoung says, his hand rubbing in soothing circles on Johnny’s back. “Sometimes it feels like he’s in my apartment more often than his own.”

“I’m happy to help,” Johnny insists. Besides, maybe if he spends as much time around Doyoung as possible, he’ll get desensitized to his stunning presence, and then he can sweep Doyoung off his feet properly. (Not that that’s panned out so far, but Johnny is nothing if not optimistic.) Plus, Johnny’s always down to show off how useful he can be around the home.

“Nice to have a beanpole around for the highest shelves, am I right? Hendery says, and Yukhei makes a wounded noise around his mouthful of rice.

“Nice to have a stack of muscles for carrying stuff,” Mark agrees. He just beams when Yukhei turns betrayed eyes on him. Yukhei can’t hold up the façade for long, breaking into giggles with Mark almost immediately.

“Oh, I appreciate it a lot,” Doyoung says. He’s sectioning off his rice into even portions to match his meat. “Johnny’s arms work wonders.”

Johnny barely avoids choking again.

“I bet they do,” Dejun mutters into his bowl.

“You think so?” Johnny’s heart swells (along with his ego). Maybe the kids’ over-obvious approach really does work, he thinks, and he just goes for it. “Which part, the biceps? Triceps? Or maybe you’re a veiny forearms kind of guy.”

Doyoung whips his head around, flushing, and Johnny just grins at him. “Not – not like that! I’m just appreciative!” Doyoung smacks at Johnny’s shoulder.

“ _I’m just appreciative!_ ” Johnny echoes mockingly, combusting on the inside.

“Argh – You –” Doyoung gives up on words and slaps him in the forehead with the rice scooper.

“Is that sanitary?” one of the kids mutters. Johnny’s too busy clutching at his forehead and whining loudly to see who. This is an injustice. Johnny was just asking an innocent question! He has a vested interest in learning Doyoung’s preferences.

“You’re lucky I didn’t use my hands,” Doyoung says, unrepentant.

Johnny can just _feel_ the round of suggestive looks the kids are exchanging around them.

Doyoung clears his throat. “But really, I don’t know what I would’ve done without him. It was really nice to meet someone when I first moved here, especially when I was struggling with settling in and everything. And carrying around too many boxes,” he jokes. He lets out a breath, some tension releasing from his shoulders. “I… I’m really glad we met.” Well, damn. Johnny might actually cry.

“You’ve been a great help, Johnny,” Doyoung tells him. An emotional pause. “Plus, you provide so much entertainment stumbling out of your apartment in the morning.”

“ _Doyoung,_ ” Johnny whines again.

“Like that’s a surprise,” Hendery snorts, always ready to slander him.

“Johnny is just endless amounts of entertainment packed into an oversized clown,” Dejun says. His friends are nodding sagely all around him.

Johnny pouts. “Hey! I’m not just a source of entertainment! I’m also a great friend, and an okay coworker, and an amazing hugger! I have a lot of love to give.”

The kids just grin back at him, as if half of them haven’t already called on the comfort of his hugs in their times of need. Unbelievable.

“I know,” Doyoung says, a hand on Johnny’s arm. “Sometimes I feel like it’s more than anyone deserves.”

He lets go and returns to eating his dinner, oblivious to Johnny’s shocked stare. Or maybe not – a flush rises up his neck as he shoves food in his mouth. He’s resolutely avoiding eye contact. His free hand clenches in his lap, and Johnny aches to hold it.

Doyoung swallows. “This is great. Good job to whoever cooked it,” he says, sending clear “move on and don’t comment” signals.

Johnny sighs. Another time, then. He turns back to his food as well.

He catches movement in the corner of his eye and turns in spite of himself. It’s the kids, of course. They’re making offensively blatant “NOW KISS” motions.

Alright, Johnny’s had enough. He picks up a spoon and launches a potato chunk at Yukhei.

The rest of the dinner devolves into a war zone of flying food and high-pitched screams. (Mark and Johnny forge a battlefield alliance. Dejun and Hendery target them relentlessly for daring to spare each other. Yukhei won’t stop yelling, _FOR VALHALLA!_ Doyoung might actually kill someone.)

The mess takes two hours to clean up afterwards, but the sound of Doyoung’s startled laughter was worth it.   
  
  
  
“Johnny Suh, is this _my_ egg cooker? Are you a kitchen appliance thief? I let you into my home and feed you, and this is the thanks I get?”

Johnny scoffs in fake offense. “How dare you accuse me, Kim Doyoung. You left it here last week when we watched dramas over brunch!”

“And you didn’t think to bring it with you the several times you’ve been over since then?” Doyoung gives a theatrical eye-roll. “Typical.”

“Hey, I knew you’d be back sooner or later.” And hey, Johnny has ulterior motives. He could always use a ready excuse to see Doyoung again at a moment’s notice.

Doyoung concedes that point and returns to his all-important prep work of laying out every ingredient on the kitchen counter before he weighs out a single one. He doesn’t usually do this, he had explained (and Johnny knows), but this is a practice run of the dish Doyoung wants to cook for their friends when they come over this weekend. It’ll be a thing of beauty – or an apartment fire. Their friend groups have never intermingled before.

(Based on the amount of ribbing Johnny’s gotten from his friends already, he’s going to have to run damage control on his reputation with Doyoung the whole time.)

But for now, it’s just the two of them, an array of ingredients Johnny can’t name, and the excited shouts coming from the next room. The college kids have come over to hijack Johnny’s nice TV for their games. Johnny would have joined them to crush everyone at Mario Kart, honestly, if Doyoung hadn’t specifically requested his presence.

Johnny is serving as sous chef today, which basically means that he does whatever Doyoung wants and awaits his every command. Much like any other day, in other words.

Besides the fact that Johnny has never actually helped Doyoung in the kitchen before. To be honest, Doyoung doesn’t need it. While Doyoung mixes the ingredients, and Johnny watches him from a safe distance, Johnny gives him the rundown on his friends instead. It’s good to give him forewarning, Johnny thinks. Taeil won’t shut up about how excited he is to finally try Doyoung’s cooking. (Johnny doesn’t mention that it’s because he keeps hyping it up to him. Taeil insists that every other sentence that comes out of Johnny’s mouth starts with “Doyoung” these days.) Johnny warns Doyoung that Ten is already strategizing the best type of alcohol to get him smashed and ferret out his secrets while staying within the bounds of proper houseguest gifts. (Again, Johnny doesn’t bring up the fact that the party won’t even be in Doyoung’s apartment. It’s at Johnny’s. He’s not prepared for the thought that maybe their friends think there’s no difference.)

“Taeyong will ask if he can decorate anything for you, and he’ll pretend he isn’t sulking if you say no, and that’s just a burden you’ll have to bear,” Doyoung tells him.

“Noted.” Johnny has met Taeyong, and he can imagine an impressive pout on the man’s face.

“LIU YANGYANG, YOU RAT BASTARD!”

An outburst of yelling explodes from the next room, and Doyoung and Johnny stare at each other, shellshocked. Clearly the kids these days care just as much about their games as Johnny’s friends do.

A snort escapes Johnny’s nose. It breaks the dam, and now they’re both laughing in the relative safety of the kitchen. Doyoung half-topples over the counter with the force of his laughter, awkwardly dodging the mixing bowl, and curls a fist in front of his mouth to try to muffle his giggles. Johnny wishes he could bottle up this moment and tuck it away forever.

It takes them a couple more minutes to get it together again. Doyoung shakes off his giggling fit and resumes mixing.

“Hand me that spatula?”

Johnny grabs it without taking a single step. Advantage of having long noodle-boy limbs. He leans to reach Doyoung’s outstretched hand. “Wow, I’m impressed. I didn’t even know I owned this–”

His fingers brush Doyoung’s. The contact comes with a burst of warmth where they meet, like he’s strayed too close to an open fire.

He jerks his hand back, and the tingles travel over the back of his hand and up his arm.

Johnny sucks in a breath.

Doyoung stares back at him, eyes wide.

Johnny’s fingers tighten on the handle as his mouth opens and closes, lost for words for the millionth time in front of this overwhelming man.

Doyoung… is his soulmate.

Johnny might need an hour or five to scream about this.

Before he can, there’s a call from the next room. “Johnny, do you have a minute?”

In almost hysterical amusement, Johnny realizes he’s just standing there, in his kitchen, holding up a spatula for the world to see.

He lets out a breath. “One minute,” he calls back. He places the spatula in Doyoung’s unmoving hand, and holds it between both his own, squeezing gently. He’s never gotten the chance to before, clearly, so he tries to put months of care and affection into this moment of contact. Months of making Doyoung laugh in the mornings. Months of helping in any way he can just to see him for longer. Months of carrying his boxes, or meeting his friends, or letting him rest in warm arms.

Months of building up to this moment, it seems.

He doesn’t know how they’ve never made physical contact until now, but he knows what his heart’s been set on for so long, and maybe that matters more.

So for now, he smiles gently at Doyoung, and feels his heart squeeze when Doyoung smiles back. And soon, he’ll stroll into his own living room to untangle whatever problem the kids have run themselves into, and they will barely notice a difference in his emotions. And later, he’ll come back to Doyoung, and they’ll probably sit down for a long, heartfelt talk.

But for now, he holds Doyoung’s hand in his own, and simply, honestly, truly loves.

The warmth surges between Johnny’s palms, like he’s cradling a fire in his hands.

They have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> \- markhei rise  
> \- I’m not sure if the “almost” moments are as obvious as I’d intended them to be. oh well  
> \- johnny was supposed to have way more game in this. sorry, dude  
> \- an earlier version of this had hendery kicking off a scene with a bizarre one-liner  
> \- who knew that the climax of this story would so prominently feature a spatula. who knew a spatula, of all things, could give me feels  
> \- this title is inspired by the person who commented saying that the first half of this makes them think of “Elevator (127F)”. if you're out there. thanks for giving me the idea haha


End file.
